


B&R115:  The Fourth of July

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, M/M, Series, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-26
Updated: 2008-04-26
Packaged: 2018-11-10 17:30:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11131515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Francesca Fischer hosts a party.





	B&R115:  The Fourth of July

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

B&R115: The Fourth of July

## B&R115: The Fourth of July

  
by Dee Gilles  


Disclaimer: For entertainment only

* * *

Benny & Ray 115 The Fourth of July Dee Gilles Rated PG  
  
Francesca Fischer ran around the kitchen like the proverbial chicken with her head cut off before her husband Damon stopped her with a kiss.   
  
"It's going to be fine," he said with a smile. "Just fine."  
  
"Are you kiddin' me? We have like--fifty guests coming any minute now, and the chicken's not even thawed out!"  
  
"So, we'll start with hotdogs. The Italian sausage is ready to go, too." He kissed her sweat-dampened brow, feeling a bit damp himself. It was nearly ninety degrees out. "The grill's already hot."  
  
"There's ten pounds of potatoes to be peeled."  
  
"I'm on it." He pulled her close, pressing against her pregnant belly.  
  
"The soda's warm."  
  
"I'll get Mike to stop by the 7-11 for some bags of ice."  
  
"The fish smells funny."  
  
"We don't eat it."  
  
"I forgot the corn-on-the-cob."  
  
"We'll open some canned."  
  
She sighed. "I love you."  
  
"I love you more, Francesca" he said. He leaned in.  
  
Fran chuckled through her kisses. Damon was such a sweetie. Always saying mushy things like that. Steadfast, was what he was. Steadfast and true. Every morning they rose together, and prepared for their work at the dealership, and everyday, Damon bestowed upon her an affirmation. You have unlimited potential, he would sometimes say to her. Or the world wants you and loves you, Francesca. Or make today your best day ever, my dear. Things like that.   
  
Damon Fischer was the brass ring she had always been reaching for.   
  
Their kiss deepened. Francesca felt hands on her rear. She slowly pulled back. "Are you getting fresh with me?"  
  
"Yes." He smiled.  
  
"You can't. Not now."  
  
"You drive me crazy." Damon suddenly dropped to his knees. "I love your belly," he whispered, and slipping up her cotton blouse, kissed her there tenderly. "Hello, Sunshine," he said their daughter. "Daddy loves you so." He placed his forehead against her navel.  
  
Francesca bent and kissed the head bowed to her in supplication. In absolute worship.  
  
She had never been so happy. She and Damon were doing well. The house was done, finally. The bathroom and kitchen renovations had led to other projects. They knocked down a wall between the kitchen and living room to open up the space. They then had decided to reconfigure the dining room, which led to a redo of an adjoining half-bath, which changed the size and shape of the sun room, which led to a patio remodel.   
  
But they were done now, with the work, and they finally had a chance to take a break and enjoy it all...to play...before the baby came. Damon had taken her to the house in Tahoe, to Hollywood to see the celebrity homes, to Mexico. When their daughter was old enough, they would show her the whole world.  
  
Francesca smoothed down Damon's thick dark hair, tried to calm the perpetual cowlick at his crown. She caressed the back of his neck, the fine hairs at his nape. Her palm wandered down to feel each shoulder, touching the knob of his spine between his narrow shoulder blades. His hands roamed from her belly to her thighs.  
  
The doorbell rang, and Fran jumped. "Oh!" Her anxiety, which had slipped away under her husband's soft caresses, returned abruptly.  
  
"It's fine," he said, rising.  
  
Even so, she was nervous. She'd never hosted so many people at once. Damon's parents, siblings and their wives and kids were coming, in addition to her family. Fran still found the Fischers a little intimidating, en masse, even though she got along fine with each and every one.   
  
"My hair okay?" she asked. She blew out a calming breath.  
  
"You are Francesca-fabulous. There's no one more beautiful than you. Go enjoy our guests. Relax! I'll take care of the food."  
  
Fran scampered for the door, her flip flop sandals making a thwopping sound against the gleaming oak floors. She smoothed her khaki mini-skirt.  
  
Fran saw the face of her friend Melissa MacGregor peering through the door sidelight, hand shaded over her eyes, watching for her. Fran broke into a grin of relief. "Mac!" she cried as she flung open the door.   
  
"Frannie!" Mac cried as they embraced one another. "Look at you! You're carrying so high!" She put her hand on Fran's belly. "How's she doing?"  
  
"Oh, she's doing jumping jacks in there today--Dio Mio!" She caught sight of the man standing behind and to the right of Mac. "Oh, hello. You must be Austin?" The reminded her strongly of Hugh Grant.   
  
"Hi," he said. "Nice to meet you." He stuck out his hand to greet her.   
  
Nice grip, she thought. Not limp and not too hard. Bet he's good in bed, she thought. I'll have to ask her later. She smiled. "Well, don't be shy. Come on in!"  
  
Fran escorted them to the kitchen. On the way, Mac said. "I thought you might need extra hands, so..." Both she and Austin held up their hands to her palms out. "Here we are!"  
  
"Oh, you're the best! Damon could use a hand peeling potatoes, but I hate to ask...would you mind?"  
  
"Not at all," Austin responded for them. As Damon said his greetings and began small talk, she found knives for Mac and Austin and put them to work.  
  
No sooner had she gotten them set up when the door bell rang again. Francesca glanced at the clock on her way out of the kitchen once more. Oh boy, she thought. Who else is early?  
  
Her next guests had let themselves in before she got to the door. "Mom! Dad! You're early!"   
  
"Oh," Louise Fischer said with a wave of her hand, "your father-in-law was sore that the Sox were losing, so he turned the game off. He got angry at the TV. We were just sitting there looking at one another and the four walls, so we figured we'd come along. Hope you don't mind."  
  
"Oh! Not at all!" She smiled. Of course she minded. Elliot Fischer made her nervous. He had a penetrating gaze that made her automatically feel guilty. He was a nice enough man. He had a physique like a tugboat.   
  
Elliot volunteered to man the grill first-shift, and so Francesca was happy to pass on to him some meats and the aluminum foil and some cooking utensils to occupy him. He cracked open a Beck's and made himself at home on the patio.  
  
Louise Fischer staked her territory in the kitchen, chatting with her son and Mac and Austin. She gathered mustard and spices and relish for the potato salad, and chopped vegetables for a tossed salad. She helped herself to a glass of Merlot.  
  
The doorbell rang soon enough, and this time, Francesca let in her friend Ursula, attached to Renfield Turnbull. Still. They were one of those miracle couples. It was a miracle they were still together. Fran was convinced that Turnbull thought he'd be beaten senseless if he ever tried to leave Ursula. Ursula smiled, and handed to her friend a six-pack with a bottle missing.  
  
It was good to see both her girlfriends again.   
  
Ursula and Turnbull greeted the other company, and shortly lapsed into conversation. Mac and Turnbull couldn't help but turn to Consulate business since they were in the same room together. It gave Fran a twinge of nostalgia for the old days...when Ben wore the serge, too. God, she had been gaga over him then! It was kind of funny now, her lusting after him. It felt a little incestuous now...thinking those kinds of thoughts. She turned her thoughts elsewhere.  
  
In short order, her nephews Paul and David arrived. Officer Paul Moretti, with a very military-like crew cut, pulled into the long driveway in his new black Ford Mustang. His brother David pulled up behind him in a faded red `93 Corolla. David's hair was past his shoulders now, and was kind of stringy-looking. Poor kid. He seemed to have lost his way. She just hoped he found his life's passion soon. Maybe she should talk to Damon about getting him a job at Fischer Toyota, or Fischer Ford. She wondered if David would like that. It had to beat what he was doing now; selling ties at Macy's.   
  
Next to arrive was her Auntie Marie Therese and her cousin Chloe. The large house immediately became filled with noise. Aunt M.T. could talk up a storm, and the only person that could out-talk her was her daughter Chloe. Even Francesca had a hard time getting in a word edgewise between those two. Fran could swear that M.T. was already a little tipsy. She was a little too....perky.  
  
She went out to check on Damon's dad, and he was doing fine. Turnbull and Ursula had joined him and were watching him turn sausages and dogs. He had already put a Beck's on both their hands.  
  
Evidently, Damon had caught his brother on the phone in time, because next Michael Fischer showed up with his 15-year-old son Emmett in tow, both laden down with bags of ice. "Hope this is enough," Michael said. Michael was a rusty-haired version of his brother. His son was tall and thin. "We can make another run if you want." Francesca kissed them both in greeting.  
  
"No, that'll do," Damon said. "'preciate it." He finished dicing the last of the potatoes. Mac filled a large pot with salty water, and Austin dumped in the potatoes.  
  
Francesca directed Mike and Emmett to pile the ice into the beverage coolers by the back door. She was still chatting with Mike when Damon's brother John came walking up the back patio, with a petite red-head and two boys right behind him. "Hey!" she cried. She gave John's wife Sela a kiss hello, and kissed their twin nine-year olds, Adam and Alec. The boys immediately went to greet their older cousin, and tuned the adults right out.  
  
Right after them came Damon's brother Rudy, by himself. Rudy ran the only failing dealership in the family business. His Lincoln-Mercury business was going down the tubes fast, but evidently Rudy couldn't have cared less. He was really into spending the money as fast as it came in. Rudy was the black sheep of the family. He and his dad did not get along one bit. Rudy went into the kitchen and greeted his mother and made his rounds among the other family. He steered clear of his father. The two studiously ignored each other.  
  
Then the bus pulled up. Francesca was standing on the front porch talking to Sela about methods of preparing veal when a Ford Freestar pulled into the front driveway, and right behind it, a Ford Explorer. And behind that, a Dodge Viper with front-end damage. And then a rusty old tan Aerostar. It looked like a caravan of gypsies.   
  
Or like the circus had just come to town. There they were; Maria, Tony, Ma, Marissa, and Rosanna. And Raphy, home on a short summer break from UNLV. Her cousin Robb, her cousin Vito. His wife Gwen with their two girls. Her cousin Al. Uncle Vincenzo. Ray, with Carie. Ray's friend Vinnie....  
  
Thank God Ray had only brought Vinnie with him. He'd had the good sense not to show up with "that woman", as Ma called her, like he kept threatening to do.   
  
Ma had let it be known that "that woman" was not welcome in her house, or any other member of the family's house.   
  
The whole thing with Ray and Ben and Stella was causing a hell of a rift in the family. Everybody sided with Ben, and was pretty vocal about it. Ray had been threatening to move out of the house and in with Stella if Ma didn't lay off him. He had taken all the crap he was gonna take. I mean it Ma, he had snarled over his lobster ravioli at their last Sunday dinner. Not another word.   
  
And Ma knew when to stop pushing Ray, so she backed down.  
  
Fran could tell by their body language now, though, that there was still tension between them. And little Carie caught in the middle of all this. Poor thing! Thank God she was too young to understand. All she knew was that her Papa wasn't around that much anymore. But they had there special days together, at least.  
  
Francesca missed Ben. He should be here, too. She had invited him, too. But she understood that that was not a comfortable situation for anybody to be put in, having the two of them in the same room together, but not together.  
  
She waddled down the porch steps and greeted her family and brought them all inside to mingle with the Fischers. She enveloped her sweet little Carie in hugs and smothered her with kisses.  
  
The party went well. They laughed, gossiped, ate, drank, played kickball on the wide shady lawn, and keep-away, and dodgeball. They played Canasta, and Bridge. Ma and Louise Fischer chatted away all day. Those two were best friends. Fran and Damon were both thrilled that their mothers got along so well.  
  
Carie, the only baby, got tons of attention. All the adults hugged her and kissed her and tossed her around and played with her. Marissa and Rosanna fought each other over who was going to hold her. Carie was giddy.  
  
Night fell, and the Fischer brothers produced some small firecrackers from somewhere, and set them off out back. Soon, the air was pungent with their acrid smell.  
  
And Francesca watched her brother all day. He didn't say much. He did rally for a few minutes at some point to give Ursula a hard time, calling her "Old Rough and Ready" and sarcastically saluting her. They exchanged a few peppery remarks.   
  
Most of the time, though, he kept to himself. She caught him a couple of times, when he thought nobody was watching him. Ray looked so sad.  
  
Francesca knew everything. She had gotten a call from Maria the night that Ben came over to the house after returning from Canada, and then fled again. She and Damon had been having dinner at their hotel. They were in Lafayette Indiana for a Toyota sales meeting. She had come to see Ben the night after they returned to Chicago.  
  
She dropped by the apartment for a surprise visit, not really thinking she'd get much out of him, other than his usual polite brush-off that everything was fine, but Ben had opened up to her in a way he never had before. He admitted that he had strongly suspected that Ray was having an affair for some time. But he was so terrified of the idea that, like an arachnophobe who avoided spiders at all costs, he had skirted the issue. He had squashed it all down until the situation came to a head. Ben was kicking himself. In retrospect, he said, as soon as Ray told him he wasn't going to go to Canada with him, he should have cancelled the trip.   
  
Ben poured his heart out to her, all night. When she finally rose at midnight to leave, it did not seem to her that he wanted her to leave. It was clear to her that Ben desperately, desperately loved Ray. She had to do something about the situation.  
  
Ray sat on the back patio, underneath a willow tree, on a wrought-iron settee with David. The warm evening breeze whispered through the willow. David sipped from a bottle of Sam Adams, and Ray nursed a green bottle of San Pellegrino water.   
  
Fran cleared her throat. "Hey, there, big brother. Wanna come give me a hand in the kitchen? I've got some watermelon I wanna grab."  
  
Ray shrugged. "Yeah, sure." He plunked his nearly-empty bottle of water down on the side table, and stood.  
  
She guided him to the narrow kitchen pantry, turned on the dim little light by the overhead cord, and shut the door. Ray turned and looked at her curiously...and a little warily.  
  
"So....how's Benton?"  
  
"How should I know?"  
  
"That's a lousy attitude."   
  
"Well, it's not like I see him. Well, except for the days he follows me all over town, that is. But we don't exactly speak then."  
  
"Ray! Geez! Go back to Benton! You're both miserable. Why are you doing this to each other? What is wrong with you? That man loves you! He cares for you, deeply!"  
  
"Benton Fraser never cared about anybody but himself."  
  
Francesca looked at him in wide-eyed disbelief. She reached out and popped his upside the head.   
  
"Ow!"  
  
"You're a moron."  
  
"Don't start, Frannie. I gotta hear it from Ma and Maria and everybody else. Just shut up about it, alright?"  
  
"Alright, Mr. Touchy."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Alright, fine!" she snapped back. She put her hands on her hips and waited.  
  
"Do you want my help or not?" Ray finally prompted, glowering down at her.  
  
"No. There's no watermelon. I just wanted to talk to you."  
  
"Well, I don't wanna talk to you!"  
  
Francesca clicked her tongue and took a step back. "You know what? Alright. Fine. Go be a miserable bastard someplace else. See if I care."  
  
Ray rolled his eyes, turned on his heel and left the kitchen. He didn't say another word to her the rest of the night.  
  
FINIS  
  


  
 

* * *

End B&R115: The Fourth of July by Dee Gilles 

Author and story notes above. 

Please post a comment on this story. 

 


End file.
